


Canvas

by infinite_regress



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Baby Fic, Domestic, F/M, Fluff, No Plot, Romance, Snippet, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 08:40:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10567677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinite_regress/pseuds/infinite_regress
Summary: The Doctor did a thing. And stuff happened.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [randomthunk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomthunk/gifts).



> I feel bad that I've not produced anything for Whouffaldi week. I've been horrible busy IRL and involved in other writing projects I've had to keep up with.  
> Here's a bit of Whouffaldi nonsense that I found in my files by way of an apology.

Clara was the perfect canvas, the most exquisite thing he’d ever seen, a living, breathing testament to everything that was right in the universe. 

He’d consumed her with his eyes for years, savouring each delicate line on her brow, endlessly mesmerised by the way her mouth curved and the rose-tinge that flashed to her cheeks when she shot him a coy smile. He was captivated by the deep longing in her eyes, her thirst for adventure, so very like his own.

Then he lost her. Forgot her for a while, but that didn’t last.

So he did the thing, the thing that swept through their histories like a hurricane.

Everything changed once he had her with him again. He was done with holding back, done with missing out on the life they could have. How long had he loved her? All his lives. When he told her, when he finally told her, she raised those deep brown eyes to his, and said _I already know._

Then he painted her with his fingertips, exploring the texture of her skin, allowing his lips to discover her mysteries, and when they first shared that secret, shuddering moment of mortality, it gave him life, and he thought himself the luckiest man who ever lived. He etched each moment into his memory, framed for a thousand lifetimes. The perfect canvas.

She asked him, occasionally, if he’d _done something._

He’d cracked the universe for Clara, fractured reality and changed the past. But he silenced her with kisses. “Trust me, I’m the Doctor.”

“You’re an idiot, but you’re my idiot, you daft old man.”

It was inevitable, he supposed, with the way they loved each other, that eventually a seed would take hold. They knew it might happen, and they didn’t even try to prevent it. The day they realised, she cried, he cried, and she never asked him again what he did to make this life they were living possible.

And now here they were. She was sleeping, exhausted, with their tiny, beautiful hybrid tucked in the crook of her arm. If it was possible for anything to be more perfect than Clara, then this tiny, fragile life in her arms was it. Two piercing blue eyes looked up at him, ancient and brand new all at once.

Clara shifted, the baby murmured, and he carefully extracted their daughter from her arms.

“Oh, you are the one,” he said, still dumbfounded that he’d created this tiny life. She looked up at him, eyes like a million stars, and her voice rang out in his head.

_I know what you did._

“Ah, of course you do. Don’t tell your mother.”

_No. That’s your job._

He cradled the child, her dusting of hair soft under his lips. “So that’s how it’s going to be, is it? Both of you holding me to account?”

That’s what they all did, everyone who travelled with him, but none more than Clara. Held him to account, made him be the best version of himself he could be because they saw the things that really mattered.

He watched Clara sleeping. He would tell her he’d bent time for her, distorted reality to rewrite their stories, of course he would. One day.

“Let her get a bit of rest first. It’s been a busy day,” he whispered.

The baby cooed and her hands shifted in jerky, uncoordinated movements. She was still a baby, after all. She was the thread that would bind them forever across the infinity of space and time.

 _Both my hearts, for you and your mother till the end of time,_ he promised silently.

The baby cooed up at him, creation spun on, uncracked, and everything was right in the universe.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you like it, I might get the chance to do something else quite short this weekend if people are still interested in Whouffaldi.


End file.
